


The Light That Forms Us

by Talullah



Series: Westernesse [17]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: Yávien suddenly sees her deepest wish being fulfilled, but what will it mean for her life?
Relationships: Yávien (Tolkien)/Mairen (Tolkien), Yávien (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Westernesse [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/296957
Kudos: 1
Collections: Legendarium Ladies April 2020





	The Light That Forms Us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Love Song (Imladris Collection of Numenorean Songs No. 72A)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363892) by [Himring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/pseuds/Himring). 



> [Legendarium Ladies April - Prompts for April 13](https://legendariumladiesapril.tumblr.com/post/615334403880681472/legendarium-ladies-april-prompts-for-april-13)   
>  **General Prompt: Wishes Fulfilled**   
>  **Picture Prompt: Portrait of a Heart, by Christiane Schloe**   
>    
>  **Poetry Prompt: A Drift of Dust (excerpt), by[Nancy Cheng Long](http://bluelyrareview.com/nancy-chen-long/)**   
>  _If we are but ash, then let our names be the urns that hold us,  
>  skins we slip into - the garments that shield us  
> from the wind. Because wind cannot help but concuss the fine particles  
> of our little-lived moments strung together.  
> And we cannot help but scatter  
> the light that forms us.  
> More space than shape, these bodies, this ocean of cosmic dust._
> 
> The title comes from the poem.

**Nindámos, 397 S.A.**

Nine years. The first were hard to bear. Yávien absently played with the letter in her hands, as she remembered being eighteen and holding flowers at the wedding of her cousin and best friend to a handsome, apparently kind man, forcing a smile onto her face, while inside she was wrecked by jealousy, resignation, confusion, fear, but mostly, loss, such deep loss.

It had felt like the world was going to end. Because Mairen was not just her cousin and best friend. She had been Yávien’s love for many years and at last, three months before this arranged wedding, she had held Mairen in her arms as a lover. Mairen had chosen her fate, though, and Yávien tried to respect it, hiding her pain so as not to overburden her cousin with her sorrow.

It was that Summer that she had begun to travel, as she had yearned to all her life. Oromendil was six and their parents seemed to have fallen in love all over again. They were busy at their vineyard, on Hyarnustar, and this Summer they would not be able to spend a few weeks in the family house on Nindámos, as they did every Summer. Yávien did not feel like going either. This would be her first Summer there without Mairen, her first Summer as a grown woman, for what, if not loss, makes us grow?

So, when a letter from Aunt Vardilmë came, inviting her to visit her on Andunië, the small, western village, where she had set up house, as far away as she could from Armenelos, after leaving her husband, Yávien took the chance with both hands, although, at great pains to persuade her mother.

Her father, Nolondil, had always treated her like a son, taking her along when he worked on the vineyard and on the farm, readying her for life, giving her all the freedom that she wanted. Lôminzil, her mother, however, had made sure that, despite Yávien’s free spirit, she got the proper education a daughter of the Royal House of Elros Tar-Minyatur needed to sail this world. So, her mother was not happy at the thought of her daughter travelling alone to such a faraway place, all the more to visit the relative that they all avoided mentioning.

But Yávien had pleaded and bargained and stomped her feet until Oromendil had said, like the proper little man of six years of age that he was, that he would escort his sister.

Nolondil had laughed, Lôminzil against her will had smiled, and the matter had been settled. Despite being heartbroken, Yávien could not contain her excitement at her first voyage by herself. Oromendil and her loved their stay in Vardilmë’s house and she made a friend of her aunt. After that, she travelled whenever she could, sometimes with Oromendil, sometimes alone, avoiding Nindámos and family gatherings when she could, and, when she could not, mustering courage and generosity to face everyone with a smile, especially Mairen and her husband.

Mairen often wrote to her, describing her new home, the local customs of her husband’s land, Orrostar, and sent her poems that said little about what she truly felt about anything. Yávien replied, as lightly as she could, carefully avoiding to disturb the enormous lake of unsaids lying between them. As time passed, the end of their brief love still stung but was less present in Yávien’s mind; the absence of their friendship hurt, but her soul was not brimming with despair anymore.

One day, Yávien had decided it was time to return to the family house in Nindámos. Summer was gorgeous there and Oromendil needed a taste of a proper season by the seaside. She made a point of not writing to check if anyone from the family would be there, for she did not want to know. Her life was full and good, and heartbreak had not killed her, so it was time to stop avoiding. But when they got to the house, it was empty, safe for the servants who took care of it. 

Oromendil quickly made friends with the fishermen’s children. He was eleven, then, and full of energy. Yávien suspected her mother would kill her if she knew that she let him run around all day long under the sun and only saw him at breakfast and dinner, but she had never seen her brother so happy.

Knowing that he was safe and that he as quickly found lunch at their house as with the families of his new friends, left Yávien completely free. She dressed in her simple Summer shifts of white linen, donned her straw with the very wide brim and roamed by foot or on horse through the paths of the delta of the Siril, feeling at peace with herself and the world, enjoying the beauty of it.

It was there, on one of those margins, that she had met the girl again. The first time she had seen her, had been years before, on her last Summer with Mairen. She was but a child of twelve, maybe thirteen then, but cheeky and obviously infatuated with her. Yávien had not thought of her once since then, but now, as she saw her resting well shielded among rushes, knee-deep in gladden and yellow cress, she was drawn closer. They had said few words that day, both embarrassed, but then the girl had stolen a kiss as they bid farewell, and Yávien had returned the next day. Without Yávien quite knowing how it had happened, they had become lovers.

Coming Autumn, Yávien had returned to the vineyard with her brother, both too tanned for Lôminzil’s taste, but happy and healthy. They had celebrated her birthday with the first wine of the year, as they always did, and Yávien had felt joyful, free of guilt or sadness. She would always love Mairen, but the needed distance between them did not ravage her anymore. She had come to love the handsome fisherman’s daughter with passion but she did not feel tied to that love. She felt that she could love whomever she wanted without fear of loss. And, as she travelled through the land again to visit her aunt Vardilmë or her great aunt Tindómiel, other friends that she started making here and there, or just places that she wanted to see, she always made sure that she visited Nindámos on her return, before finding her way home.

Before she knew it, nine years had passed since Mairen’s wedding and their parting, and five since meeting Azrâindil. Her lover was jealous sometimes, but mostly fun, generous, kind. She sang beautifully and played the lute, sometimes improvising little tunes for Yávien’s poems, sometimes making songs of her own. Oromendil was now a young man of almost sixteen years. Life was a beautiful affair.

Then the letter had come, and now Yávien stared at the sunrise, trying to set her mind in order after a sleepless night. Mairen had left her home. Mairen had set off to live alone in Rómenna, deliberately ignoring Elendil and Eärendur’s pleas for her to return to her husband, and isolating herself from the rest of the family. And Eärendur, who had always reproached the closeness of their friendship and who had instigated Amandil to marry off his daughter so early, that now wrote to Yávien, requesting her intervention.

She could not think. Mairen was free, at last, as she should have always been, but why? And why had her cousin not sent her word? Her eyes were heavy with fatigue but her heart was aflame, hope burning in her chest. The memories of their shared youth, full of joy and such deep affection, the recall of the few times they had loved one another shone incandescent in her mind’s eye. 

Her lover lied on their bed, pretending to sleep when she knew that something had happened. Her father expected her to be back in the vineyard in three days, for her mother’s birthday. And all Yávien wanted was to ride straight to Rómenna, to Mairen, giddy and fearful in equal measures.

“What is it?” Azrâindil asked at last, still lying in bed.

Yávien did not know if she should lie, tell the truth, tell nothing. She loved Azrâindil so dearly, wanted to share everything with her, but she also wanted to be free, to travel, to love others, to be by herself. Could she tell the truth and not lose her love?

“This letter… my cousin is in Rómenna, has left her husband. No one knows why.”

Azrâindil sat up on the bed. “And now you’re off running to her…”

“No. I mean, I might go, but I don’t know. And-” Yávien stopped herself short. She was about to reply that it was not like that, but it was exactly like that.

Azrâindil got out of the bed and started hastily dressing. “It was stupid of me. You’re a high lady, I’m a fisherman’s daughter, of course this was just passing time.”

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.” Yávien tried to stop Azrâindil but her lover swiftly avoided her, moving around the bed.

“I love you, Azrâindil,” Yávien said. “But she is my friend.”

“And lover.”

“Not for a long time. But I would be lying to you if I said I do not love her. Let me go to her, please. I will return. I always do.”

Azrâindil stared at Yávien for a long hard moment, and left the room without a word.

Yávien held her hands together until they stopped shaking. If thinking was hard before, now it was impossible. But somehow, she made herself remember that the world did not end if a love ran its course. And that she had sworn to herself to always be free, no matter the cost.

She sat at her desk and and wrote two letters, one to her mother, wishing her a happy birthday, which she tucked within the parcel that she had brought from Eldalondë, with a cut of their fine silks in the burgundy Lôminzil favoured, and the second one, with to Azrâindil, in simple words because she had only recently learned to read, to be sent to her home with the many small presents she had collected for her in the last month on the road.

Then, she packed the few belongings that she took on her travels, went down to take breakfast and gather food for another journey and left the Summer house without looking back. After her decision was made, she felt uncommonly calm, as if she was but a character in a play, fulfilling her role.

~~~

In the past, Yávien mostly avoided Rómenna in her travels. She had been there only twice and fleetingly. There was something about the city, the continued chaos, the poverty of some parts, the crude accent, the bizarre foods, the rather mysterious customs, that did not appeal to her, as other parts of the island. Still, she knew how to move around and quickly found people who were glad to tell her where Mairen lived.

She found her cousin living in a dingy cottage by the sea, as far away from the family’s house in Rómenna as one could manage in such a cramped city. Yávien who, of the women of the family, had always been the least prone to behave as a high lady, was shocked at the wild growth of the tiny garden, the smallness of the dwelling and the seemingly precarious state of the roof. 

No one answered when she knocked on the front door, so Yávien went around the building and found Mairen sitting on the back, picking lice from the head of some child. She was dressed in a rich magenta silk dress with a fraying edge embroidered in gold. Her hair had been cut very short and curls framed her delicate face.

“Yávien,” she said, in a steady, calm voice. “Sit.”

And then she went back to the child’s head, as if they had last talked the day before and all of this had no strangeness at all to it.

Yávien waited, trying to understand what she was seeing.

After a while, Mairen said, “There,” and the child rose to her feet, thanked her and ran off. “Don’t forget your lessons tomorrow,” Mairen cried.

Then, shaking her head with an amused smile, she turned to Yávien.

“Did you come by horse? Where is it?”

Yávien shrugged, bewildered. “Out front, tied to the gate.”

“We need to have someone care for it. I’ll ask Sapthêth to have Abrazîr find it a place to stay - that is, assuming you are staying here. I would not take offence if you chose the family house…”

“Sapthêth, Abrazîr?” Yávien asked, trying to wrap her head around this pragmatic Mairen in front of her, who, somehow, had replaced the delicate woman who had never dealt with practical details her whole life.

“Sapthêth worked for me, when I lived in Orrostar, and Abrazîr is her son and sometimes helps us. That was his daughter.”

Yávien nodded, still confused. “Yes, I will stay, if I’m welcome.”

Mairen had washed her hands in a bowl as they spoke and opened her arms to Yávien, finally greeting her. Yávien held her briefly, then followed her inside the cottage, though the small kitchen. It smelt of wood fire, freshly baked bread and something with fish and spices. An older woman was cleaning her hands at her apron.

“Sapthêth, dear, would you have Abrazîr come and take care of my cousin’s horse?”

“Yes, m’lady,” the woman replied in the thick accent of Rómenna. “The stew will be done in a minute and the bread is under there,” she said, pointing at the table, where a linen towel covered a few shapes. “I’ll be off to me home, now,” she said, nodding at Yávien as a greeting.

“Thank you, Sapthêth.”

Mairen waited for her maid to leave them. Then, she took Yávien’s hands in her own and squeezed fondly. “Can I hug you?” she asked. “Properly, I mean?”

Yávien, still stunned, fell to her arms, feeling herself be squeezed tightly, Mairen holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the universe, as if no time had passed since the last time they had embraced like that. They stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, hugging for a long, long time, until Mairen broke the embrace.

“Come, let’s settle you in and eat. We eat early, here, in the East.”

Yávien followed her, confused, happy, worried, searching for the right moment to pose the questions that burned in her mind, but Mairen was radiant, showing her the cottage, the view to the sea, setting the table with the humble food, and asking Yávien all sorts of questions about her travels and her family in Hyarrustar, uncle Nolondil, aunt Lôminzil, cousin Oromendil…

And Yávien obliged, replying with as much detail as she could, glad to be there with this Mairen, who was so much more alive than the last times they had seen each other, warm and lively, and yet not quite the girl she had once known so intimately.

After a pause in the conversation, Mairen started putting away the dishes, and said, “Knowing you, I don’t suppose you are here to try to convince me to return to my husband.”

“No,” Yávien shot.

“But you were told to…”

“Did I ever heed Eärendur’s words?”

Mairen scoffed and sat opposite Yávien once more. “Not once. Thankfully.”

“So, what happened,” Yávien asked. “Did he hit you? Said bad things?”

Mairen shook her head. “No. He is not like Aunt Vardilmë’s husband, if that’s what you mean. I suppose father and grandfather learned that lesson and chose more carefully for me.”

Yávien shook her head. “Then..?”

Mairen lowered her eyes to the table. “I tried, Yávien, I really tried. And I think he did too. But all that there was between us was a huge, cold void. Which could define perfectly so many valid marriages around us. But the cool politeness of our daily lives was killing me. And year after year, I was drowning in remorse, not able to love him, not able to recognize myself anymore. And no children came to fill that void, either.”

“It is early… so many couples of our blood wait for longer.”

“We were not performing with adequate diligence,” Mairen said, winking. “Besides… he was doing that with someone else and she became pregnant.”

“Oh,” Yávien said. “Oh… but why don’t you tell this to uncle Amandil and grandfather Vardadir? Judging from Eärendur’s letter, everyone is losing their minds over in Armenelos. And why are you here? If you wanted to get away, you know you would always be welcome in our home. Father always says you're more of a daughter than a niece to him, you know that. And what happened to your hair?”

Mairen shook her curls, laughing. “So many questions! Let’s see. First, I will write them once I get myself straightened out. I may be relieved and happy that it’s over, but it was still a marriage and there were things that hurt all the same. I am not ready to face the family and explain why I could not stay and look to the other side, like so many people do. Or to muster the energy to stop Elendil from going after him and landing his fists on his face… We did not love each other but he always tried to be kind and I cannot place the blame solely on him.”

Yávien reached to take Mairen’s hands in hers. “Dear Mairen, always putting others before yourself…”

Mairen shook her head. “In a way, yes, if you are referring to my husband, but I am also being selfish. This is why I pretended to be away when Eärendur came knocking on my door and this is why I am not replying to the family letters yet.”

“You can’t keep them away forever.”

“I know. But I need time here.”

“Why here?” Yávien asked. “Why in a house that’s falling apart, in the poorer part of a city that was never part of your dreams.”

Mairen smiled and looked over Yávien’s shoulder.

“And why didn’t you write?” Yávien insisted.

“I kept you at a polite distance for a long time. And you did the same to me. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome to rekindle our friendship… or anything else. I wasn’t sure if you’d found someone else to love and that my presence would complicate things.”

Yávien lowered her eyes. “I know I have kept things between us superficial… I needed the distance. I am sorry.”

“Come,” Mairen said. “Enough of the kitchen. The living room is a much more comfortable place to have hard conversations.”

Yávien followed her, finding a place to sit by the fire.

Mairen served them both a strong chordial that had Yávien choking. After a few coughs and a few laughs, Mairen teased, “I would suppose that you had learned a few things about drinking in your travels.”

Yávien scoffed. “There’s no need for that. My father owns the finest vineyard in the land.”

Mairen nodded. “That is true. Speaking of which, do they already know about their downfallen niece?”

“I am not sure. Probably. The courier that brought me Eärendur’s letter was heading to Hyarnustar next…”

“I’ve received letters from mother, father, many from Eärendur, none from grandfather, and just one note from Elendil with money, saying ‘Be happy.’ That one was a surprise.”

“I am glad,” Yávien said. “He was always your favourite for some reason.”

“You know, on the eve of my wedding, we had the strangest conversation. In retrospective, I think he was trying to give me a way out.”

Yávien stared at the fire.

“Did that hurt you, Yávien?” Mairen asked. “Talking about my wedding?”

“I had to place towels drenched in iced water on my eyes, that morning, they were so puffed. And Aunt Tindómiel gave me some concoction to drink that numbed me for a few hours. It hurt so hard, for so long…”

“And now I’ve unravelled the marriage and all that sacrifice was for nothing…”

“Yes. I admit that, as glad as I might be for you, I am surprised that you chose this, after the sacrifice you made for the good of the family… What happened to the self-abnegated daughter?”

“It wasn’t easy, coming to this. Sapthêth helped.”

Yávien raised an eyebrow. “Is she your lover?”

Mairen laughed. “Heavens, no. She could be my mother. But…”

“But?”

Mairen looked into Yávien’s eyes for a long time, then shook her head, as if breaking a spell.

“You will think that I am crazy.”

“Test me. Anyway, I always thought that we were all a little crazy.”

“I found solace from my troubles in the mysteries of Our Lady Uinen.”

Yávien jumped from her chair. “No!...”

“Well, yes. I knew you would be shocked, but hear me out.”

Yávien sat down again, gripping the arms of her chair.

“I know our family is not that fond of intimate relationships with the maiar and valar, despite the blood that runs in our veins. All the stories that Great Grandfather Elros has told us from the war, the implicit criticism, the bitterness that accumulated over the years for the loss of his brother to another fate, the things that they failed to do to protect the Eldar and the Sindar, who were innocents caught in the middle… I drank that all in, as so have you and many others within and without our family. We go up the mountain three times a year, observe the rituals, say the prayers directly to Eru Ilúvatar and come down, forgetting all about religion until the next holiday.”

Yávien nodded. She liked things exactly the way Mairen had so accurately described.

“But the seamen here are close to Uinen, as you know. And their wives too. I used to think that it was all a senseless cult, but then things happened that changed my mind. And I want to stay here and explore that.”

Yávien sat in silence for a long time. She had not expected this. It took her some time to understand that, whatever she might think of Mairen’s turn for religion, she should explora that matter on another time. There were still many unanswered questions, though, and some .

“But why the poverty? Not even Aunt Vardilmë our Aunt Tindómiel, who both chose strange fates, live in houses like this.”

“I am not a pauper. My house is warm and comfortable, as you can see, I have food, and I had friends. Not just Sapthêth, but other people I have met here, who would not feel at ease at a grander place.”

“The hair, does that have anything to do with it?”

“It was hot. I was tired of having all that on top of my head.”

“Not some random sacrifice to the cult?”

Mairen scoffed. “Oh Yávien… You need to spend more time in Rómenna. It is really not like that. And cult is such a demeaning word…”

Yávien looked down at her hands. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“I know you didn’t. And you must be awfully tired. It’s so late and you travelled all day long…”

“I am tired, but there are still so many questions…”

“I know. I have mine too... But why not rest and resume tomorrow?”

Yávien accepted. Mairen’s cottage was tiny and had only one bed. They quickly prepared for the night. Mairen gave her a bowl of water to wash in, promising a decent bath in the morning. Then, they slipped into their nightgowns and snuffed the candles. Yávien thought that she would not be able to sleep, not with so many images whirling in her mind, memories from the time they were girls, the warmth of Mairen’s body so close to her, reminding her of their time as lovers, then all the questions hanging in the air about Mairen’s choices and the fate she was choosing for herself, and all of her own doubts about what she felt for Mairen, how disappointed she would be if she left Rómenna without something happening between them, how Azrâindil would be hurt by all of this… but it had been a long day, and as the thoughts and memories blended in a haze of golden, scattered light, she quickly drifted off, snuggling against Mairen as she had always done.

~~~

Azrâindil’s mouth was turning down, despite her best efforts to hide it. 

“You returned,” she said, as soon as Yávien crossed her threshold.

“I always do.”

“So?”

Yávien did not reply to the question but came closer to Azrâindil and placed her arms around her lover’s rigid body, holding her for a very long time, until she returned the embrace.

“So, I love you,” she answered. 

“And you’re leaving next.”

“I missed my mother’s birthday. And I miss them.”

“And your other family?”

“She’s fine. She’s finding her own way.”

“And you?”

Yávien looked into Azrâindil’s eyes for a long while. “Don’t be so sad… I love you. Can that be enough?”

A single tear ran down Azrâindil’s cheek. “But not enough, apparently.”

“Always, and more than you think. And yes, I also love her, there’s room for the both of you in my heart. But for now, it is just that. Come, let me tell you how it was.”

Yávien led Azrâindil by the hand to the window, noticing that her lover was wearing the ring that she had left among the gifts. They sat down, absorbing the last minutes of the cold, Winter light coming in.

“You need a thicker coat for your travels this time of year,” Azrâindil said, the corners of her mouth still tense.

“I know, darling,” Yávien replied. “I know. I’ll wear one the next time I come by.”

Azrâindil looked up into her eyes. “I am not a plaything.”

“You never were that to me. But I am not to be owned.”

Azrâindil sighed. “I wanted that.”

“I know. And, in a way, you have it.”

Yávien cupped Azrâindil’s cheek with her cold hand. There was much to be said, and she would return to Rómenna often, as a friend of Mairen’s and maybe someday, her lover again, but Azrâindil was her love too and now this was her time to be comforted and loved.

“I missed you,” she said, leaning in and kissing her lover’s lips.

Finis  
April 2020

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after Wildflowers and, like this story, is inspired by Himring’s “[A Love Song (Imladris Collection of Numenorean Songs No. 72A)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363892) and the other works of her [Yávien series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/525097), who kindly allowed me to borrow as much as I liked. I think it can stand alone. It is in the same universe as Wounds, written earlier.
> 
> “well shielded among rushes, knee-deep in gladden and yellow cress” is from Himring’s above mentioned poem.
> 
> The names of Yávien’s mother and other characters were taken from [Real Elvish](https://realelvish.net/):  
> Abrazîr - Steadfast-friend  
> Azrâindil - Sea-flower  
> Lôminzil - Night-flower  
> Sapthêth - Wise-woman
> 
> Yávien means "Fruit-maiden" or "She of the Autumn", hence the birthday in Autumn.


End file.
